


A game you want to lose

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How did you beat a gay guy at gay chicken?!" Castiel has a lot of hidden talents. Winning gay chicken happens to be one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A game you want to lose

“Look, you need to go hover somewhere else,” Dean said bluntly. “No one is going to take me up on a game of pool if I have a priest looking over my shoulder. That’s just too much pressure.”

Sam looked Castiel over. Ironically, the angel had been the least convincing priest of the three of them. The bitterness and disillusionment that clouded around him since he had started falling was almost a tangible force these days. But while Sam and Dean had spare shirts in the Impala to change into, Cas was stuck with his ill-fitting black shirt and dog collar until they got back to the motel room. Sam had rolled his sleeves up earlier in the day in an effort to hide the fact that they were too long, and the pale forearms of Castiel’s vessel were like two sticks of chalk against the black.

“Go hang out by the bar,” Dean instructed. “Try not to talk to people. _Don’t_ start drinking; we’re here to make money not spend it.”

Cas turned away and stalked off to the bar, though Sam was fairly certain he heard a muttered _“Yes, mother,”_ from the angel.

“We’re gonna have to get more clothes for him,” Sam observed.

“I’m not buying him underwear,” Dean shot back firmly.

“Dude, he knew how to text and flip people off without you holding his hand. I’m pretty sure he can handle the underwear section at Walmart.” Sam waited until Dean was lining up his first shot before adding, “If he even wears any.”

The tip of Dean’s cue skidded across the blue felt of the table, leaving a streak of chalk behind. Sam grinned at him, and took the opportunity to pot the first ball. They’d play a game against each other, talk big, and hopefully attract other patrons to play against with the offer to “make it more interesting.”

It wasn’t the kind of bar they usually targeted. A little cleaner, a little brighter. The patrons were more varied than the grisly men and tough, bendy women they were used to. Exhibitions of personal hygiene and grooming were present throughout the patronage, and there were a few men drinking cocktails. The kind with multiple straws and little umbrellas. Dean had his head down, blanking out the things that didn’t fit into his world-view, pretending this was just another bar. In contrast, Sam made an effort to stand up straighter. Between shots he had his pool cue behind his neck, holding it in place with his wrists hooked over it. People stared at his body, and he made a show of being friendly and approachable. Dean would play the guys who would try to fight him in the parking lot for taking their money. Sam could handle everyone else.

Of course, as Sam should have known, a taste for cocktails and men in plaid did not confer a lack of talent in playing pool. He got his ass thoroughly kicked.

“We’d call it a draw, let you keep some of your dignity,” a blond guy called Phillip said, “but Steve lost all of the drink budget betting at the bar, and I am just no fun to be around without a Tom Collins in my hand.” He shrugged apologetically.

“You thrown away all our money yet, Sam?” Dean called over, frowning at Sam.

“What kind of betting?” Sam asked Philip, ignoring Dean completely.

“Some priest has a kissing booth,” Philip said, shooting Steve a dark look.

Dean froze for a moment beside Sam, before turning sharply. “I’m gonna go check on Cas.”

Sam frowned. “You can bet on a kissing booth?”

“Gay chicken,” Steve said. He sighed dramatically. “I don’t know what it is, but he just keeps winning.”

Sam paused, and then reached out, grabbed the cue ball, and dropped it into a corner pocket. “Thanks for the game,” he said, slapping his last fifty onto the felt. “But I really need to see this.”

There was a crowd around the bar. Sam had noticed it building, but had assumed there was a game on the television. His superior height allowed him to spot Cas, his back pressed against the bar, looking bored and distant. There was a clear space of three feet between him and the crowd. Then, one man stepped forwards.

At a guess, he was younger than Sam. Early twenties, artfully spiked hair, and his wallet in his hand. Castiel looked him over. “Fifty,” he said.

“The last guy only paid twenty!”

“Yes, but this is your third try,” Cas replied. The guy was shoved playfully by one of his friends, and with a sigh he pulled out a fifty. He held it in one hand, Castiel gripped the end of the bill with his fingers, and after a moment’s hesitation on behalf of young and spiky, they leaned forwards to kiss.

Sam felt weird just watching it; it was like seeing Bobby put the moves on someone. Some people are just meant to stay asexual in your worldview, and Castiel was on that list for Sam. But Cas was leaning casually back against the bar with his hips angled forwards, he lowered his eyelids, just a bright sliver of blue peeking out from under long, dark eyelashes. His lips were plump, and parted, and he wet them slowly with the tip of his tongue.

Young and spiky leaned closer, and closer. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Their faces were an inch apart, then Cas leaned forwards and nuzzled the tip of his nose against the other man’s cheek, and it was all over. The boy sprang back, leaving his fifty dollar bill in Castiel’s grasp, and pressed both hands to his face.

“Damnit. Damnit _damnit_.”

“Better luck next time,” Castiel said idly, and tucked the bill into his pants. Sam stood his tiptoes, and could just see that Cas had quite a lot of notes tucked into his belt. It gave him a debauched look, less like a priest, and more like a stripper who happened to be dressed as a priest. Until you looked back to his face. There was something patient and tiredly curious in his expression, even now. It wasn’t the charming smile of a professional seducer, it was the tired watch of a man who was searching for something but lacked the faith that it would be found.

Another man stepped forwards, Castiel eyed him, and the process began again.

“Has he lost yet?” Philip asked, finding a space by Sam.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Sam replied. “How long has he been going at it?”

“Hm, about an hour? Apparently it started with two guys playing next to him, and he offered to play the winner for a drink. And, well, who would turn down a priest in a game of gay chicken?”

Sam sighed. “This would only happen to Cas,” he muttered.

Steve, standing on the other side of Philip, perked up. “Do you know him? Is he really a priest?”

Sam considered the question. “He’s a man of God,” he said at last. “Though he’s not that interested in the preaching side of things.”

“That’s good,” Philip commented. “We were wondering if he was in town to shame off the tourists.”

Sam turned to Philip, his brow furrowed. “Tourists?”

Steve grinned over at Sam in response. “Us. There’s a whole busload of us. We dress up like straight guys and infiltrate their bars once a month. See what the straight tourists get out of doing it to us.”

“Oh,” Sam replied. “How are you liking it so far?”

Steve and Philip were staring at Cas as he lowered his head, his eyelids closing, his head tilted slightly to one side. “Straight bars seem to have a lot more priests willing to make out with the gays,” Steve observed.

“Which is totally not fair,” Philip added.

“Aside from that, I guess it’s okay,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Alright,” Philip said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m going to have a turn.”

“You’re wasting your money,” Steve said. “You can’t beat him.”

“Honey, I was voted gayest gay at the Sydney Mardi Gras after party and sleaze ball. I think I can manage one mildly sacrilegious kiss.”

“Bet you a mojito you can’t,” Steve shot back. The two shook on it, and Phillip wound his way through the crowd. “The crazy thing is,” Steve said idly to Sam as they watched Philip take his place in front of Castiel, “I would love to kiss that man. In fact, I just want to take him home and do sinful things to him all night.”

“Cas, or Philip?” Sam asked absently.

“The priest,” Steve clarified. “I already do sinful things to Philip. Just, that mouth. Look at it. It’s like his lips were made to be abused.” Steve glanced up at Sam. “I’m still talking about the priest,” he added.

“Yeah, I got that impression.”

“But as soon as I got close to him... I don’t know if it’s that he’s a man of the cloth, or the years I spent at a Catholic school. I just can’t do it. Something just shorts out every part of my brain that thinks about sex and I just feel...” Steve trailed off, unable to find the right word and Sam nodded absently, watching as Philip angled his head closer, leaned closer until he and Castiel were breathing each other in. Cas licked his lower lip, his tongue brushing against Philip’s mouth, and Philip sprang away like he’d been burned.

Dean had pushed his way to the front of the crowd now, and grabbed Castiel by the shoulder. Cas looked him up and down. “Two hundred,” Cas said drily, and Dean gave him a dirty look.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean hissed.

“Looking for God,” Castiel replied sarcastically.

“Well, you can give it a rest,” Dean said. “We’ve got enough funds now.”

“ _I_ have enough,” Castiel corrected. “Sam’s broke and you’re not much better off.” And then the two of them got into a hissed argument about sharing that everyone in the bar watched with interest.

“Are they a couple?” Philip asked, slouching against Steve.

“No,” Sam replied. “They just act like one. I gotta go.” Steve and Philip wished him a good night, and Sam pushed through the throng of bystanders to the free entertainment Dean and Cas were providing, stepping up to his brother and angel and grabbing their shoulders. “There are some interesting plans to capture you two and make you jelly wrestle,” Sam said in a low voice. “So I’m thinking we should get out of here.”

“Fine,” Dean said, shrugging Sam off. “Unless Cas would rather stay.” Cas ignored Dean and negotiated with the bartender for a bottle of spirits. One last round of gay chicken later, and Castiel was happily exiting the bar with a mostly-full bottle of tequila.

“Seriously though,” Sam said when they were piled into the Impala, a crowd of men waving goodbye to Castiel. “How do you beat a gay guy at gay chicken?”

“Twenty bucks and you can find out,” Castiel replied.

“Twenty? You quoted me at two hundred!” Dean exclaimed from the front seat.

“I remade your body from clay and hauled your soul out of hell,” Castiel replied in much the same tone as Sam would use to point out that it was definitely Dean’s turn to buy breakfast. “I know where your mouth has been.”

Dean scowled at the road in front of them, and Sam wisely kept his mouth shut.


End file.
